May Flowers

There is always that moment when the gradual change in seasons ceases--and the season definitively arrives.

That moment came today.

As I walked to the mailbox, picking my way through puddles left by a day of heavy showers, the sweet scent of lilacs floated across the damp evening breeze.

Ah. Spring.

Anniversary

It's been a year today Mom, and I miss you.

These are the flowers that were on your kitchen counter the day you died. I always thought they were ordinary, everyday, nothing-special flowers.

They are nothing but special to me now.

What is on Your Nightstand?

My friend Stacey blogs every day.

And every day, when I read her posts, I feel guilty because I’m NOT.

I tell myself (and anyone who asks) that I’m okay with this state of affairs. But honestly—I’m feeling utterly inadequate.

The “experts” say it’s easy to get past the excuses: just pick one of a zillion prompts and write a few sentences. So since I have plenty of other reasons to feel inadequate, I’m stealing one of Stacey’s—which she got from Susannah Conway. I love the concept because our nightstands are a snapshot of where we are in this moment. And in this moment—hey look, I’m blogging!

What's on My Nightstand:

A glass of water (a last-ditch effort to compensate for not drinking enough during the day.)

Neosporin Overnight lip balm (my mom said it was the only thing that kept her lips from being perennially chapped—and she was right.)

A lavender candle (no, this calming scent does not soothe me into uninterrupted sleep—but I love the idea that it might.)

A quartz crystal (see above.)

Book Club book (What I read because I have to, not because I want to—although this month it’s The Chaperone and I’m actually enjoying it.)

Book I want to read (Pam Houston, because good laughs are in short supply these days.)

Love

I used to hate Valentine's Day.

But that was when I was young and foolish and thought love was about roses and chocolates and declarations.

When I thought love was about deception and heartache and never enough.

How liberating it is to understand that the degree to which we feel loved is the mirror image of how much we love ourselves.

Today I celebrate all that I love. And the love I'm blessed to receive.

Snow

The first real snowstorm of the year conjures memories that I think are mine alone.

And they're not.

The smell of wet wool and hot chocolate...frozen cheeks and and ice-crusted mittens...mummy-like snowsuits, hand-me-down sleds, too-big rubber boots packed with slush, caves dug into mountainous drifts...turns out these experiences were shared by countless others.

How disappointing to know my childhood wasn't so unique.

How reassuring to know this: my mom wasn't the only mom who warmed you up with Campbell's tomato soup, made you put on your still-soggy mittens, and sent you back outside to play until you lost all feeling in your extremities!

Labels

My November 2011 journal pages.

My sister Deborah and I have always been close. Just never as close as we are now.

We grew up in a family that assigned labels to each child—as many families do. I was the artist; she was the poet. And that, of course, was that.

Except that it wasn’t. In secret, I wrote and she made art. And we (secretly) resented the labels that boxed us in. Labels that ultimately stamped our passports to our futures: college and job choices, creative pursuits. Labels that drove a wedge between us—and drove us to bury our treasures beneath fear and anger.

With time, pain, and growing up, we chipped away at the boundaries. Our art and writing blossomed, and so did our willingness to share and support each other’s process. The day came when, at Deborah’s suggestion, we began a collaborative visual journal project. Each month we filled two pages with art and writing, then exchanged the journals by mail (she’s in Maryland, I’m in New Jersey.)

It’s difficult to express what this collaboration has meant to me. How it has impacted my creative journey and our relationship as sisters.

Perhaps all that needs to be said is that it’s been going on for almost two years and neither of us has missed a month.

Or that many of my journal entries reflect hers and vise versa. Sometimes they even share common creative elements, as if guided by some magical virtual muse.   

Or maybe this: we’re sending off a proposal to a women’s writing retreat to broaden and deepen our collaboration—and collapse the distance between us—as artists-in-residence.

Then again--maybe there's no need to put a label on it.

My April 2012 entry.

Deborah's Pocket Travel Book.

Page 1 of my Hurricane Sandy journal entry.

Page 2.

Me...June 2012.

Deborah's Writing Through the Blues, which was chosen as the cover art for Keeping Time: 150 Years of Journal Writing. Below are a few of her journal pages.

The Perfect Gift

Hard to believe Christmas is just over a week away.

Not much shopping, decorating, or celebrating has been going on in my world. No cookie baking, or caroling, or dreaming of presents under the tree.

It's not for lack of holiday spirit. I've been thankful that others have decorated up a storm--the lights look prettier than usual this year. And I'm looking forward to seeing friends and making merry. It's just that I can't seem to get my head (or heart) into the whole giving/getting thing. And that's so not typical of me that I've actually been feeling bad about it.

Until tonight.

Driving home from Jim's, I heard an Eddie Cantor song from 1939 that could easily have been written today. By the time it ended I felt at peace with the way I'm feeling. Given the kind of year it's been, the perfect gift would be not to lose what I already have.

The Only Thing I Want for Christmas

(Is Just to Keep the Things That I've Got)
If Santa passes by my stocking, I promise not to mind a lot
The only thing I want for Christmas is just to keep the things that I’ve got
A pair of loving arms around me, a garden of forget-me-not
The only thing I want for Christmas, is just to keep the things that I’ve got

A friend or two, a peaceful sky of blue
A place to hang my hat when work of day is through
If Santa passes by my chimney I’ll still be happy like has not
The only thing I want for Christmas is just to keep the things that I’ve got

Ya know there’s a lot of unhappiness in the world today
But we still have peace over here.
In this country we really have Christmas 365 days each year

If Santa passes by my stocking I’ll still be happy like has not
The only thing I want for Christmas is just to keep the things
Just to keep the things, that I’ve got